


Morning Routine

by Kokolo



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Brotherhood of Mutants, Coffee, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Morning Routines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22723648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokolo/pseuds/Kokolo
Summary: As per usual in the Brotherhood Household, Pietro was the first one awake.
Relationships: Lance Alvers/Pietro Maximoff
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	Morning Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/127253339694/fic-morning-routine) on August 21, 2015.
> 
> I am a sucker for married couple! dynamics and Lietro is perfect for that fight me on this.
> 
> Edited by the always lovely Mugsandpugs <3

As per usual in the Brotherhood Household, Pietro was the first awake. Unusually for him, however, he was in a decent mood. He’d taken the liberty of speeding through most of their cracked china and stocking it back in the cupboards. The garbage had been taken care of, the counters wiped down. He’d even got the finicky outlet to accept the coffee machine’s bent, burnt plug and had the machine running a drip against it’s will. Of course, he’d also found time to squeeze in a quick shoplifting trip to get coffee to use (and water, the good kind, bottled somewhere out of state) and something to stuff in the fridge to get the Blob off their collective backs about hunger pangs. 

What was also unusual was his lack of company. Though he was always the first awake, he usually had company early in the morning. Six am, weekends and illness excepting, he’d have the only other ‘average’ Brotherhood mutant for company, grumbling about routine. Grumbling in general. 

The front door banged against the opposite wall. It often did that, because no one in the Brotherhood house was light-handed. It then banged back into place, and Pietro sighed like he hadn’t done the very same thing before dawn in his rush to get to the bathroom, just in case anyone else had any ideas about using it before he did. At the very least, the door sounded like it was still intact. For the moment. Until someone got thrown through it again. 

“Ah, speak of the devil.”

Pietro’s little remark garnered no response. His grin and wave faired no better. Lance looked like he’d dug himself out of bedrock to grace the kitchen with his presence. His hair was a mess, his eyes at half mast, his clothing rumpled and thoroughly slept-in. He was more like a comical caricature than a living, breathing thing, and Pietro snorted at the stumbling steps. His legs or back cramping might have caused the strange gait, but Pietro had long since stretched and lost all stiffness. He had no sympathy for the slow-moving boulder currently drawn toward the coffee drip. 

Last night had been profitable. They had a routine down pat - Lance would enter the store and buy a few small things, paying for it with filthy, crumpled bills and generally looking pathetic as possible. Quicksilver, meanwhile, would be running around the store, too fast for the camera to pick up on his image, gathering up things Lance’s paltry allowance couldn’t afford. They’d meet back in the Jeep, look over their ‘purchases’, and hit up another store, if necessary. Last night they’d sacked four stores, two in town, two further south. Lance was sure they had enough to last them the rest of the month, and though Pietro disagreed with him based solely on Blob living with them, he shut up after Lance gifted him some worthless magazine. Not the type of thing he’d read, but he was always just shy of flattered when Lance thought of him at the checkout. 

Lance’s gentlemanly tendencies had all but disappeared at sunrise. He grunted and grumbled as well as any caveman, tripped over his own two feet, and finally trapped Pietro between his arms and the counter. Pietro wasn’t quite sure if Lance knew where he was, or just knew that was where the coffee pot usually sat. In any case, he seemed to carry on without realizing Pietro was in the way. He reached up past his head to get a mug, set it back on the counter, opened the drawer into Quicksilver’s back and dug out a spoon and an ancient packet of fake sugar they’d stolen the last time they’d eaten at a restaurant. Pietro stifled a laugh at Lance’s inability to rip open the thin paper, and again when most of the granules fell outside of the mug. To avoid being burnt, Pietro turned his back to Lance and guided the half-gloved hand to the handle of the coffee pot and helped him pour, and guided the other hand to set the spoon in the cup so he didn’t fling coffee all over his fresh shirt and the clean counter. Lance’s hands followed limp as a puppets. 

“You are the absolute worst in the mornings.” Pietro simpered, ignoring the heavy grunt that fell on his shoulder. Lance wasn’t much taller than him, but there was just enough clearance for him to lay his chin on the narrow shoulder and dig in there. Aggravatingly sharp chin, scratchy with stubble and digging into muscle mass he needed to play against Daniels later, but Pietro was in too good of a mood to raise his shoulder sharply and make Lance bite his tongue. Instead, he reached up with the closest arm and ruffled the already terrible bedhead. Lance swayed on his feet, bumping his chest to Pietro’s back, knocking him into the counter with misplaced strength.

“Coffee?” Lance slurred. 

“Sure is. Even started it up for you.”

“You’re incredible.”

“Yeah yeah, tell me something I don’t know. And quit breathing on me. Your breath stinks.”

Lance huffed and ignored Pietro’s request. He buried his scratchy face and unkempt hair into the long, pale neck and nestled there. Pietro bristled, but didn’t move. His major concern was marks. He’d already gone to great lengths to groom himself that morning, and he didn’t need or have any particular want to dig through Wanda’s cosmetics a millisecond at a time to cover up a pseudo hickey. He’d already had a mini heart attack when he saw the sheet and shirt impressions on his chest and mistook them for very out of place scratches. 

“You’re a big grumpy bear, aren’t you?” Pietro tried again, raising his voice, finally flinching when Lance pushed his face in the crook of his neck hard.

“Mmph.”

“Poor Lancelot. And I thought we had fun last night.”

“Did.” Lance’s arms came up around Pietro’s sides and reached for the cup, then stopped and retracted. They squeezed around the more slender mutant’s middle and Lance grunted something positive into Pietro’s shoulder, then let go and grabbed desperately for his mug. “Thanks, P.”

Pietro rolled his eyes and let Lance stumble away from him, coffee in hand, toward the rickety table they’d picked up off the street some months ago. He waited for the tell-tale thump of the whole thing finally snapping in two (as he had since they got the thing through the door), but when he turned to check, he only found Lance heavily slumped over the edge, legs sprawled out under the table and upper body above it. One of his arms wrapped protectively around the mug, the other hand held it in a sure grip. He’d given up the illusion of being awake, eyes shut, head rested on the crook of his arm. Pietro tutted Lance, and much to his surprise he received a grunt in return.

True, they hadn’t been out working particularly late. The majority of their night out had ended by eleven, stealing and all. Problem was, they hadn’t gotten back to the boarding house until past two. Not for any particular reason, but that how it had happened. Boom Boom had trained Lance not to leave more than a quarter tank, and so he’d taken Pietro on a long, meandering trip. He didn’t lead-foot his way around town (no matter how many times Quicksilver tried to goad him into doing so), but the scenery made up for it. Jeeps were built for mountains, Lance told him once. Pietro believed him, but that hunk of junk was way past its prime. Lance was really very lucky Pietro trusted him as much as he did. Otherwise he’d never agreed to drive around the mountains at night, especially that late, on a school night, no less. 

Lance snored softly into the crook of his arm as Pietro took his seat. He made sure to scrape the uneven legs across the cracked floor, but the boy slept like a rock. Pietro didn’t need much more than an hours sleep at a time unless he’d been straining himself, and then, max, it was only three. Lance, on the other hand, was every inch the poster child for normal mutant teenager, and needed upwards of seven hours to be base-level functioning. As it stood, Lance looked like he’d only gotten about two. But that, Pietro thought, was his own damn fault. For someone who looked to be the strong silent type, he blabbed a lot when he was comfortable. They weren’t entirely bad conversations (even if he did doze off and lose a few points here and there), but if he’d shut up and gone to sleep, maybe he’d have some life in him. 

“Mornin, yo.” Todd yawned from the doorway. Fred trundled in after, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. “When we’d get coffee?”

Lance raised an errant hand and pointed to Pietro, who twirled the spoon he’d been using to prod at Lance’s ear around his fingers. 

“Grabbed it this morning. Take some before Lance drowns his woes in it. Or just drowns. C’mon Lancey, up and at’em.”

“You guys didn’t come in last night.” Fred said carefully to the inside of the refrigerator, pawing for something substantial.

“Nope.” Pietro shrugged and sipped his water, “Slept in the Jeep.”

“You got all the way back here and didn’t bother coming in?” 

“Time is it?” Lance interrupted, lifting his head to squint toward where the clock was last.

“Ten to seven.” Toad answered for him, snapping up a roach from under the kitchen cabinet.

“Uh-huh.” Lance erupted from his chair suddenly, eyes open. He pulled his cup up with him and took a few long gulps, setting it back down half finished. “Be ready in ten, then. M’getting the stuff.”

With another yawn, he stumbled away from the table, scratching his side and ambling out of the kitchen. The front door banged behind him. Pietro stabbed the end of the spoon into the half-rotted top of the table and spun it, drilling a new, unnecessary hole into the already taxed wood. Todd hopped into Lance’s seat and hovered above the coffee, breathing in the fumes. He opened his mouth to say something, and clammed up when the door slammed open again. Lance ambled by carrying pillows and blankets from outside, dropped bags near the kitchen, and continued on past the archway up the squeaky steps. Todd leaned back in the seat, stretching to look up the stairs, while Freddy tucked into the unspoiled food in the refrigerator. 

“So uh…” Toad broached suddenly, Fred’s chewing making up the background noise. “Are you guys… like…?”

“Dating?” Pietro answered, “No. Gay? Maybe. Fucking around? Also maybe. Sick of listening to you and Fred snore and bitch until the wee hours? Definitely. We slept in the back seat to get away from you dipshits for a night, no offense. Well, actually, I really do mean that. You’re terrible roommates. I’m sick of dealing with you, and listening to Lance deal with you. So we leave. Take some time to appreciate the rest of the not broken-down parts of Bayville and dick around and we even come back with goodie bags for you assholes because Lance can’t stop being overbearing for more than ten minutes. Point is we need a night away from all this bullshit every so often, so sue us.” 

Todd took a minute, trying to follow along the strung together series of words he only caught a handful of. He settled on the important ones, digested them, and then looked at the coffee cup in his hands, thinking some more. Pietro looked over to Freddy, still eating, licking the insides of a wrapper. 

“You got anything you wanna say about it?”

“Naw.” Fred shrugged one shoulder. “You’re in a good mood.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I unno. Means you’re in a good mood.” Fred dropped the thoroughly cleaned wrapper. “Can we get more of these?”

“Is this gonna get weird?” Todd interrupted. “I mean, if you and him-”

“No.”

“But-”

“I said no, it’s not getting weird it’s not weird it’s not going to be weird it’s perfectly normal and rational and don’t you dare bring it up around Lance he overthinks and then he’ll knock the whole goddamn house down.” Pietro leaned back in his chair and threw the spoon into the sink. “Just let it happen and shut up and don’t burn the house down when we’re out.”

“Yes _mom.”_ Todd hissed, sticking out his massive tongue when Pietro narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Have your date night see what I care.”

‘It’s not-”

“If it’s gonna keep you guys from fighting so much and the house intact and food comin’ in,” Fred said, stepping between them to steal Lance’s mug and swallow the rest of his coffee, “Then call it whatever and keep doing it.” He put the mug in the sink to start the new mountain of dishes and added, “Just don’t use all the gas. I hate taking the bus.”

Suitably chastened, Todd squatted in his seat and Pietro leaned back in his. Not a minute later Lances’ familiar thumps came banging down the steps. He appeared in the doorway, shirt changed, vest in place, and bag slung over his shoulder. He was noticeably more awake, enough to notice a strange quiet fell over the kitchen and no one was looking at anyone else. He thought about breaking the odd silence as he looked from housemate to housemate, but what held his attention was the empty space in front of Todd where his coffee had been a few minutes ago. Pietro surreptitiously pointed to Blob, and Blob shook an empty box over his palm, looking for the last crumbs. 

“Whatever.” Lance mumbled, hoisting his bag. “If you losers want a ride we’re rolling now. No exceptions.”

“Shotgun!” Toad exclaimed, leaping out of the chair, past Lance, and out of the open door with admirable speed. He was, of course, beaten by Quicksilver, who from the sound of Toad’s shrieking and Pietro’s laughing, just managed to slide into the front seat before Todd could leap in.

“Weird morning.” Lance muttered, mostly to himself. He scratched at his mostly-brushed hair and looked to Fred. “Coming with?”

“I’m comin.” He pushed off the counter and Lance stepped out of the way so he could squeeze through the archway. Before he made his way to the door, however, Fred stopped to lay a gargantuan hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Be good to each other, okay?” He said, patting a couple of times before making his way to his usual seat.

For a minute, Lance stared after him, dumbfounded. Usually, the only one to feed him cryptic messages was Wanda, and occasionally Pietro if he was feeling annoying. Anything but direct grunts and simple statements from Fred usually signaled something was up. Lance just couldn’t put his finger on _what._ Pietro and Todd still screamed at each other in the garage, punctuated by Fred yelling at them to move over. Lance shook his head and let it go. He was in too good of a mood to think too hard. 


End file.
